


Twelve Christmases

by Onlytomyhusband (Babylawyer)



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Christmas, Drabble Sequence, F/M, lots of sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babylawyer/pseuds/Onlytomyhusband
Summary: A dual POV drabble series of twelve canon Christmases
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 28
Kudos: 50
Collections: Twelve Days OL Ficmas





	Twelve Christmases

**Author's Note:**

> I endeavoured to make this as canon-compliant as possible but took a few liberties with events that would have happened sometime in the winter.

Before their first Christmas, she introduced Jamie to the holiday. He knew her secret so she told him of it, what it had been like before the war, of lights on trees, of Christmas stories, of Santa Claus. She left out how she’d never had that herself. What she was describing was what she dreamed of having. Hers were lonely. Uncle Lamb had gifts, but there was no family gathering, no coming together, no celebration. Jamie had never known Christmas, and Claire had never known a good one. She vowed that together they’d have the Christmas she’d always yearned for. 

Jamie was taken by the Redcoats before he could experience what Claire so longed to show him. He wanted to experience that happiness with her, but he was forced into hiding after he’d escaped. He missed her so fiercely when he learned it was the day of this ‘Christmas’ Claire had spoken of, he took a chance, sent a message, and got caught. Christmas night was spent being transported to Wentworth prison. He was certain he would die and never see his wife again. His only prayer was _not that night_ , to please not ruin the holiday for Claire forever.

The second Christmas should have been in Paris, should have been full of promise, hopes and dreams. She’d spent hours talking to Jamie about how to spend the holiday with their daughter, about what to give her, if they could make her smile, laugh. They’d planned to immerse themselves, to attend a midnight mass, feasting and dancing, give the full French experience to their child. That was destroyed and what once was happy was shrouded by the soul-crushing loss of Faith. The day was full of quiet, solemn remembrance at Lallybroch. Their tears fell behind closed doors, their family unaware.

Jamie knew she loved the idea of Christmas, how she had wanted to give it all to Faith. He wanted that too, also wanted to give it to her, to Claire. But when the day came and he saw the pain in her eyes, he saved his gift for Hogmanay. They sobbed over how unfair it was she wasn’t with them, over all the things they couldn’t do, would never be able to do. Solemn and sober was not what the day was supposed to be, but life was cruel, and a life without their daughter was even more so.

The third Christmas was on the battlefield, the grief less sharp, but still with them. Knowing it would likely be their last. Claire made it count, took them away from the what-ifs and terror of the future they were barrelling toward, with a big dinner on Hogmanay. On Christmas day, in their tent, Claire snuggled up with her husband, exchanged gifts, sang soft Christmas carols, and promised to love him for the rest of her life. She felt whole, safe and cherished. That was what Christmas should be; it was the memory she clung to in the years that followed. 

There could be no decorated trees, no stockings hung over the fire, no magic man in red, but Claire could sing, and that he asked of her, until he learned the words and could join in. Jamie may not have understood what _frolic and play the eskimo way_ was, but the carefree, elated grin on Claire’s face when she sang it was something he never forgot. He didn't have much to give that year, but he gave her his love, his soul, his truth, told her over and over how much he loved her, and it was more than enough.

Brianna’s first Christmas was perfect on paper—a carefully decorated tree, an excess of presents, roaring fire going, carols on the radio. The reality was tension. Frank knew how Claire had longed for a perfect Christmas, but didn't know she’d already spent one with Jamie. She spent the season sorrow-filled and melancholic, her only solace her beautiful baby girl. Brianna was the light amongst the darkness, pulled Claire out of the painful thoughts. Frank had tried, but Claire couldn't hide her pain that Christmas. Frank saw it, and the night was filled with hurled insults, harsh words and hurt feelings.

For a holiday he never truly experienced, Christmas stayed with him after Claire. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of her, but it intensified on that day. Some happy thoughts, the melody he could still hear in her voice that rang through his head, the way she smiled, the way she whispered Merry Christmas. Mostly sad, fierce longing, intense pain, all-consuming grief. Christmas became the day he let himself think of their child, to mourn all that he was missing, to feel the hole in his life from losing the people he loved most in the world. 

Claire tried harder when Brianna got older, made Brianna’s third, fourth and fifth Christmases happy occasions. She pushed down thoughts of Jamie, of how he should have been there, and devoted herself to giving Brianna what she never had. Claire even tried with Frank, tried to make it so those looks and smiles between them weren’t so forced. It didn’t work. She couldn’t forget about Jamie, dead on a battlefield, never able to meet his daughter. And because she could never forget, Frank couldn’t either. Her hidden cry and the subsequent fight became a tradition she hated but couldn’t stop. 

He cried every Christmas, that became his ritual. Thought of Claire, of their child, of all he lost, and sobbed. Not at all what his Sassenach wanted from the holiday, but he didn't have his Sorcha anymore, didn't have much of anything anymore. His cave was his only companion, and was as dark and dreary as his moods. He had his family near, but he was a risk to them, as always, was selfishly endangering them. He needed to let go, to go off on his own, but he couldn't bear it. He stayed, hurting his family just by being.

Christmas as a medical student brought with it even more tension. Claire had known she’d have to prove herself at school, but proving herself at home was even harder. How a man could want so much for his daughter, yet confined and discouraged his wife from reaching her full potential is something she would never understand. Frank wanted her to fit into the world, but she wanted a better world. But trying to have it all was hard, and when her daughter's gift was a drawing with an, “I miss you Mommy,” written across the top, guilt lanced through her.

Jamie laughed to himself, because what else was there to do when he spent a second Christmas in prison? He had done the right thing, gave his family the gift of freedom he should have sooner. It took his son losing a hand, something Jamie would never forgive himself for, to end his selfishness. In captivity, the English inmates were celebrating the day, so he joined in on the festivities he’d never been a part of. He drank and dreamed of spending Christmas in another place, in another time, in a life that couldn’t be, with his wife and child.

Loss is funny. Claire had known agonizing, soul-crushing loss far too many times in her life, but for some reason, the one that brought her to her knees was the man she came to loathe. Christmas without him meant no Christmas fight, and the house was eerily quiet. Brianna opted to stay with a friend, and Claire couldn’t blame her. The oppressive sadness of their house was all-consuming, and Claire broke under the weight of it, happy her daughter wasn’t there to witness the devastation. When the tears ceased, she was left cold, lonely and empty, just like the house. 

Jamie had resigned himself to spending Christmas alone, mourning the ever-growing family he was apart from. He was destined to be alone, he must be, with all that had happened. Lost a wife, a child, another child, and yet another. He had a new wife, new children, a new family, and he should have spent that time with the girls, but he made the choice to flee from their mother, so there he was, all alone again. Almost twenty years since he had felt happy on Christmas, and he couldn't go another twenty years like that. Something had to give. 

Christmas 1766 should have been great. She was reunited with her husband, something she’d never thought possible. He wasn’t dead and she made it back. But the way back was littered with hurdles, and Jamie neglected to warn her of the biggest, the second wife that waltzed in and destroyed what was shaping up to be a great Christmas Eve. The Christmas fight was back, and early. Claire seethed with the betrayal of Jamie marrying Laoghaire, and lying about it. The life she intended to build with Jamie was a farce, and come daylight she’d return to her own time.

He got shot that first Christmas Claire was back, and it saved him, saved them. She was going to leave him, right up until the moment he got shot. While the bullet hurt, it was nothing compared to all those years alone, compared to the thought of being alone yet again. He lived twenty years without a heart and he would not do it again. If she was going to leave he wanted that bullet to lodge into his heart and bleed it dry. But she stayed, stitched up his wounds and later fixed the hole in his fragile heart. 

Fraser’s Ridge held so much promise, and that first Christmas did not disappoint. After all those years Jamie remembered what she’d told him, even tried to drag a tree to decorate into the cabin. It was cramped enough with just the three of them, and Claire was paranoid about a fire, so they left the tree outside, no candles, no lights, but it was beautiful. Young Ian embraced the holiday with the same enthusiasm he did everything to do with his Auntie, and made it all the better. They sat by the fire, traded gifts, and revelled in the possibilities. 

The way she smiled that first Christmas at Fraser's Ridge would be forever etched in his memory. They had a family, not their whole family, but a family with them, trading gifts, stories and love, as they ate together, just like the stories Claire had told him. Come the next year they’d have more of their family, a bigger, richer celebration, Jamie vowed to make each one better than the last, to give Claire the perfect Christmases she’d dreamed. Until then he made do with making her smile when he sang lyrics he ought to have forgotten, but never did. 

There was an unfilled chair at Christmas dinner that should have been set aside, to make less obvious the absence of the daughter Claire missed so fiercely. She would have given anything to have both, to have her husband and her daughter, but that was not in the cards for them. Claire tried to push aside that longing and enjoy what she did have, a family with her, a husband who tried so hard to make this special for her. But everywhere she turned she saw her daughter’s face, revisited another memory, and wondered what Brianna was doing for Christmas. 

They had a tree, songs, gifts and a splendid feast, it was everything she’d told him of and still not enough, because one key person was missing, their daughter. For him, light had returned to his life when Claire did, but for her, one had to be traded to make room for him. His loss was far less tangible, he felt the ache of never knowing his daughter but it's one he was so accustomed to. Claire though, her wound was open, festering, and he could not close it. But he could distract, so he took that empty chair away. 

After twenty seven years, Claire finally got her whole family for Christmas. Beaten, battered but not broken, it was a quiet Christmas, a soft, shy coming together as the rest of their family got to know Brianna. She knew something had happened, knew something was bothering her daughter, but she didn't push. She leaned into Christmas as a distraction, as Jamie had for her, and watched Brianna smile for the first time in days when they started singing Rudolph for her. Claire had everyone she needed to be happy, and she was happy, with a small lingering worry for Brianna. 

Jamie found himself unable to think of gifts that were enough. That year he received the greatest gift of all, the chance to know his daughter, and what did he have for her? Nothing. There was nothing he could give her that matched what she gave him. He learned about her as she taught him new things, spoke of new traditions, of a world he would never see. That year they had Thanksgiving, and stockings and an Advent calendar he made. Anything he could give her he did, but it was never enough, until he told Brianna he loved her. 

Christmas 1770 was everything Claire ever wanted the holiday to be, their whole family together, in love, with no more secrets. As a grandmother, Claire finally experienced the kind of Christmas she’d wanted since her own parents died. Filled with merriment, cheer, and a big loving family who genuinely wanted to be there, who wanted to spend time with them. She sat by the fire, cuddled up in her husband's lap, holding her grandson, her daughter at her side in a loud, noisy house filled up with family and friends. From then on, every Christmas was spent just like that. 

Happiness, that was how Jamie would describe Christmas from then on, the most wonderful time of the year indeed. After so long of being alone and lonely, being surrounded by his loved ones was something he cherished. He didn’t take for granted a single moment of that gathering or any of the activities leading up. Every one was an adventure, an experience to savour and give thanks for, and he did, counted his blessings each and every day. Somehow the man who’d never had Christmas, became the most festive of all, for he had discovered the true meaning of Christmas. 


End file.
